Author's Note: The writing is going a little slower than I'd hoped, but I'm determined to keep up the pace of two chapters a week. Your reviews continue to encourage me, so please drop a line!
CHAPTER TEN: A Kinder Place
March 13, 1926
York, England
Henry was just departing the shop when he heard his name hailed. He turned to see his old friend, Frank Hamilton, striding down the sidewalk.
"Frank! It's jolly good to see you!" Henry exclaimed as the two men shook hands heartily.
"I heard about your shop, and I'm in York on business, and thought we might catch up."
"Do you want to come in? Are you looking to purchase a car?"
Frank shook his head, smiling. "No, though if I do, you'll be the first person I call. Do you want to grab a pint? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Henry agreed, and they set off for a nearby pub. He glanced at his friend — they'd served in the Army together during the war, but hadn't kept in steady contact over the last few years. Frank was tall, lean, with a head full of sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. All the girls had swooned over him, which had irritated Henry a little, since he'd always been used to being the focus of feminine attention.
They reached the pub, paid for drinks, and sat in a booth across from each other. Frank raised his glass. "I saw in the paper that you are married, congratulations. And an earl's daughter! Good for you."
Henry smiled and raised his glass. "My wife is an amazing woman, and her rank is the least of it. Beautiful, smart, savvy — I don't know what she sees in me!" he chuckled. Proudly, he added, "We are expecting a young Talbot in a couple months."
"More congratulations, then." This time, they clinked their glasses.
"What about you? No wife and kids?"
Frank shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "No. I've been traveling a great deal these last few years — Italy, Greece. Spent some time in Tangiers."
"Tangiers!" Henry exclaimed in surprise. "My brother-in-law's cousin lived there, until he died last year."
A strange look came over Frank's face. "Do you mean Peter Hexham? He was your brother-in-law's cousin! What an extraordinary connection."
Henry frowned slightly, uncertain why Frank suddenly appeared so discomfited. He'd gone pale and was gripping his mug of ale. "You knew the late Lord Hexham?"
"A little," Frank muttered, taking a long swig of his drink.
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place in Henry's mind. He'd heard hints and tidbits from Bertie about his cousin and his activities in Tangiers. Peter Hexham had been a "delicate" creature, more "arty than sporty." Frank's odd behavior indicated that he'd also enjoyed those same activities in that locale, perhaps even in concert with Peter.
Henry shrugged to himself. He was a man of the world, and liberal in his opinions. Frank's proclivities mattered not at all to him.
"What is it you wanted to discuss, Frank?" Henry asked, a little gently.
Frank cleared his throat and roused himself. "Yes, right. Now that I'm back in England for good, I've found myself yearning to enter the political fray. I'm standing in the election for North Yorkshire."
Henry raised his eyebrows. "That's … that's great, Frank. I wish you luck."
"I hope you will do more than that. I'd like to get your support. Will you join my campaign?"
"Oh, I don't know," he demurred.
"I could really use you, Henry. You have a keen political mind, no matter how much you try to deny it. Your father taught you well," Frank pleaded. "And you've got terrific connections. Your marriage only enhanced them. If I could get Lord Grantham on my side, it'd be a real boost."
Frank took a deep breath, agitation evident in his shaky voice. "I want to fight for change and improve the lives of … people. There are so many wrongs taking place every day in this country, and I think I can do something to right them. I'd like to try, at least."
Henry sighed. He had a business to run, and a baby coming. He was trying very hard to learn more about the estate, to help Mary and his stepson. But there was something in Frank's eyes that touched him.
"I'll think about it, Frank," Henry promised. "But how's this, to start — come to dinner at Downton to meet everybody."
Frank sat back, looking relieved. "Thank you, Henry. I think we'd all benefit from making this world a kinder place."
Mrs. Patmore placed the jar of onion jam in the basket and surveyed the finished bundle with a good deal of satisfaction. Mr. Mason would enjoy the fruits of his labor and her skills, she thought.
"Daisy! Let's go!" she called out, but turned to find her assistant cook up to her elbows in flour.
"Oh! Mrs. Patmore, I ruined the pies and must start over again," Daisy apologized. "You'll have to go without me."
Mrs. Patmore frowned. "That's not like you. Well, it can wait 'til next week, I suppose."
Daisy shook her head. "No, you must go! Mr. Mason is counting on you visiting today. I don't want him to be disappointed."
Beryl shrugged, and lifted the basket. She didn't get much time off, and this was her half-day, so she might as well make the most of it. As she left the kitchen, she missed the smile playing on Daisy's lips.
She set out for Yew Tree Farm, humming a little to herself as she strolled down the lane. It was a brisk day, but brilliantly sunny, making for a pleasant walk under the budding oak trees. Spring was her favorite time of year — everything was blossoming and growing. Soon, she would have an abundance of the freshest produce to cook, bake, pickle, and preserve. Thinking of which, she hoped Daisy hadn't ruined the pies before filling them with those strawberry preserves, they had only a few jars left.
Beryl frowned. It was so unlike Daisy to make a mistake like that, these days. What had gotten into her?
Yew Tree Farm appeared around the bend, and she saw Mr. Mason standing on his porch, a big smile lighting up his face as usual.
"Aye, I'm glad to see the sight of you," he said, taking the basket from her arm. "Where's Daisy then?"
She explained as they entered the farmhouse, where Mr. Mason encouraged her to settle on the sofa next to the stove, where a kettle was on. He peered into the basket and made appreciative murmurs as he saw what he'd brought.
"I had a nice lunch with some sausages and your pickled cabbage yesterday," he said, pouring her some tea. "You should start a business selling your goods. I don't have a doubt you'd make a fortune."
Beryl blushed and waved her hand. He was always so complimentary, so generous.
"Now, tell me your news," Mr. Mason encouraged.
They spoke of Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley's courtship, how big Jack Bates had grown, and that the housemaid Jenny had up and quit to work in a London hotel. They laughed over a story he told about an ironing mishap, and she vented about the exacting diet Lady Merton insisted Lord Merton have any time they dined at the Abbey. And she told him about the steady stream of customers at her bed and breakfast house — how its bad reputation had been wiped clean since Lord and Lady Grantham's visit.
"I'm glad you came here alone," Mr. Mason said, putting down his cup and looking rather serious.
"Oh? Why?"
He smiled and grasped one of her hands. Beryl nearly jumped out of her seat.
"I think you know I'm sweet on you, Mrs. Patmore."
"Are you?" She felt her heart fluttering in her chest, and found it hard to meet his gaze.
"Yes, and I think we'd rub along together very well, you and I. You know my wife's been gone these last, oh, nearly 14 years now, and I loved her. But I would like to find a companion, someone bustling about, cheering up the place."
"You have Daisy living here now. Isn't that enough"
Mr. Mason shook his head. "Aye, and I'm glad for it. She is the daughter I never had. But I think you know that isn't enough for me. I think you know what I'm after."
The heat rushed to her cheeks. "Do I?"
"You're a fine woman, Mrs. Patmore, a very fine woman, and I think I could make you happy, if you'd let me try. Will you think on it?"
She blinked a few times and let out the breath she'd been holding in. It had been many years since a man wooed her — she didn't count that good-for-nothing Jos Tufton. She was a little jealous of Elsie, for finding a decent and honourable man to marry. Mr. Mason had a good heart. And she was lonely — this might be her last chance at love.
"I will, Albert, I will think about it." Beryl smiled at him, and he squeezed her hand, looking pleased.
March 19, 1926
To: Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
From: Edith Pelham, Marchioness of Hexham
Brancaster Castle, Northumberland
Dear Mama,
I am sorry not to write in so long. We have been so very busy. The farms are starting their spring planting, and Bertie is run ragged in advising them. He has not hired anyone to replace him as agent, he means to do it all himself.
I have had my own tasks to fill up the days. If you can believe it, I have my own hospital drama to contend with! It is not quite the battle that you and Granny engaged in. Everyone agrees we need to modernise the village hospital, but we haven't the money to do it. And our new doctor is quite the crusader. I think I will suggest to Bertie that we open the house to raise funds, as we did at Downton.
I don't think I properly respected what you had to do in your role as countess. The claims on my attention are endless. The vicar constantly wants to speak with me, or the local women's committee, or the tenant wives. They are so relieved to have a Lady Hexham to talk to about their concerns, such as better schooling for their children.
Of course, I am interested in forming a school, specifically for young women, much like the one Aunt Rosamund is a trustee of. Bertie supports me in this, though Mother M. always raises an eyebrow when the subject comes up.
I think I will have any ally in Baroness Ravensworth — she lives at Eslington Park. We recently attended a dinner there and she is not much older than me. We discovered similar opinions on many topics, and she is an avid reader of the magazine!
Bertie is well, though the dear man is quite exhausted. Still, he always reads Marigold a bedtime story — is he not the best of husbands and fathers? I hope it shall not be long before he has more children to read to in the nursery.
Speaking of nurseries, how is Mary doing? I am not sure we will be able to come to Downton before her delivery. But Marigold will be thrilled to see Sybbie again next week. We are so looking forward to having Tom come to stay. Did I tell you I also invited my editor, Miss Edmunds?
With love,
Edith